


Three Different Times

by basketcasewrites



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Genderfluid Michelle Jones, Other, Trans Peter Parker, anti tony stark in ii, just cute fluff, kinda after hoco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-07-15 06:52:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16057814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/basketcasewrites/pseuds/basketcasewrites
Summary: Neither Peter nor MJ were too good when it came to speaking about how they felt.Peter stumbled over his words. MJ never stumbled, but that was more because she hardly ever spoke.But sometimes— sometimes they got it just right.





	Three Different Times

**Author's Note:**

> This is something cute and fun.   
> Please don't read this with the intent to argue about Tony. Thank you and enjoy.

**i.**

  
"What's the proper... y'know..." Peter stumbled over his words. The night was young, his suit as new and as stiff as when he had worn it to Aunt May's friends wedding. "The etiquette?" He tried again. "What do I do when I pick her up?"

Aunt May stood behind him. Thick rimmed glasses settled on the bridge of her nose, she fidgeted with his collar.

She seemed to think it over, hands smoothing over imaginary creases and evening out already sharply pressed lines.

"Thai food, Peter. You can never go wrong with Thai food."

A stifled, nervous laugh. " _Aunt May,_ I'm serious."

"So am I. Show up with a carton of green papaya salad, some pork too, and I promise you'll be an item before the end of the night." Hands strong from years of work, it was an act of effortlessness for May to turn Peter around. "Here, my sweet boy. Let me look at you."

He straightened his shoulders proudly. Under the intense scrutiny, Peter felt the heat of a blush creep up his neck and across his cheeks, but he did not shrink away from it.

"She's a vegetarian," he told her.

"Eh. Maybe just the salad then." Aunt May smiled. "You can't go wrong with salad."

Smiling, Peter nodded and watched the soft brown coils as they danced in front of his eyes. What was he doing with his hair? Leaving it in its natural mess, or combing it back into something neater? He didn't know and definitely didn't care enough to have a preference.

Anxiety sat in the pit of his stomach. A tangled ball ready to uncrumple and wreak havoc.

He caught his reflection in Aunt May's glasses. Saw the smile in her eyes, the absolute pride, as she took him in.

"My handsome boy," Aunt May said, a hint of wistfulness tinging the edge of each word.

✴️

Almost without intending to, he had blurted the question.

"Go to Homecoming with me?" he asked. The question springing from his mouth, uncontainable; a million pigeons through their newly unlatched cage.

The words caught in the air between them, hung thick and suspended. For a second— no, it was longer than a second, Peter was sure– he was flooded with relief.  
Six words. Powerless. Tormenting him since he thought them into existence all those weeks ago. Playing a torturous game of ping-pong as he decided what to do with them.

_And if she says no?_ the voice that sounded most like himself had worried.

_And if she says yes?_ the voice that sounded most like a terrifying, soothing, amalgamation of Ned and Aunt May pushed.

Maybe he imagined it. The sparkle in her eye before she downed the rest of her smoothie, stood. "Sure. What else am I gonna do on a Friday night?"

"You can say no if you want," Peter said. An inaudible, embarrassing, mumble he was happy MJ hadn't heard.

"I thought you watch _Grown-_ _ish_ on Fridays," Ned pointed out, good-naturedly interjecting. "You know, when you're taking a break from watching the weather channel and reading up about how best to grow grass."

"First of all, geologists deserve better credit," MJ said. "Second, I'm not a Neanderthal, my show is recorded— I don't _have_ to watch it on Fridays."

Their conversation whirled uncomfortably around him.

It was a habit of his, to say the wrong thing at the wrong time; ask the wrong thing. He was basically a professional.

Ned shrugged. "It just seemed like a pretty important ritual."

"Whatever." Half turned to leave, she looked over to Peter. The corners of her mouth lifted, curved upward into something not used to being a smile. "I want to go with you. Okay?" She sighed. "You're such a loser."

✴️

"You look really beautiful," he said to MJ— for what, the second time that night? the third?

"I know." The way MJ said it, Peter knew that if he called her beautiful one more time, she would not hesitate to leave without him.

"Handsome," he tried, noticing the way their suits almost matched. Similarly cut. His black; hers a deep blue. "Really handsome."

"I know." But her voice was quieter that time; less assured. Yet brimming with a subtle confidence.

Music, pumping so loud it vibrated through the ground, came from behind them. Settled around them, ate up the silence.

_Would_ _MJ_ _mind if I called Aunt May for help?_ Peter wondered, risking a side glance at MJ. Huddled together behind the school thriving with hundreds of students; grass soft underneath the decorative pillows they had picked from the gym; stone bench cold to their backs; moonlight so soft it kissed their skin a gentle shade of ethereal.   
It wasn't exactly a _phone-_ _a_ _-friend_ moment.

"You know," Peter began, quiet, "some people don't believe in the moon."

"I know." MJ said with a blink, a nod of her head.

"Oh."

"Don't worry, go on." She chuckled lightly, as nervous as Peter. "I'll listen, then we can compare notes."

A smile creeped across his lips. Slow, hesitant.

Peter looked up at the moon when he next spoke. "There's all these conspiracy theories, right? Like, some people think that the moon is actually the back of the sun," he paused, grinned at MJ's snort, "Or that it's the back of an alien spaceship, and that these aliens are spying on us from that spaceship. Or... Or— and this one's very popular— maybe it's the American government."

"I read on this site that there's an entire advanced race of people living on the moon."

" _No way_ ," Peter said, breathlessly. Eyes widening before he could stop them, excitement showing before he could reign it in.

MJ barked out a laugh— loud and short, it echoed in the courtyard. She bumped him with her shoulder. "You really believe all that stuff, don't you?" Her voice gentle in its mocking.

" _Hey_ , in my defense, it could be true."

"I thought you were a man of science."

"The Avengers? Mutants?" Peter counted on his fingers. "Anything is possible, most of the time _thanks_ to science."

It wasn't just a twitch, or a small rise of the corners of her lips. Then, wind rustling the trees and playing with loose tendrils of her dark brown hair, in the courtyard too large for simply the two of them, MJ smiled. It crinkled the corners of her eyes, the bridge of her nose, into a multitude of folds. "Peter Parker," she declared, shaking her head slightly from left to right, "You are the biggest dork I know."

  
**ii** **.**

Poster cards littered the floor of MJ's room. Blank expanses covered in angry black writing, they created a thick layer, an odd and uneven carpet.

At the foot of her bed, MJ sat. Legs akimbo, Sharpie in hand, she hunched over a board, drawing a blank on the exact words needed.   
Something short and to the point, yet honest and powerful.  
If MJ were asked, she would say she had writing placards down to an art form. Usually.

_**Stand with Stark? You stand with war!**_ MJ inked with a steady hand.

Chewing on the inside of her lip as she reread the words, she shrugged. It wasn't the most eloquent of slogans, she knew as much. One of the stragglers could pick it up, they wouldn't mind as long as they were still a part of the rally.

A knock from behind her— a light rapping of knuckles against the windowpane— sounded out loud enough just for MJ to hear.

"Come in," she said, casting hardly half a glance over her shoulder. Brown hair ruffled from hurriedly pulling off his mask, a hoodie over a sweater over a buttoned up check shirt— she recognized him immediately.

It was something Peter did often. He sneaked up her fire escape, slipped into her room in those moments after dinners had been eaten and the sky was truly darkened. In those moments when both Peter Parker and Spider-Man could have a few moments of rest.

"Be careful." MJ's look, burning with fierce warning, stilled Peter.

Dropping his backpack to the floor with a muffled thud, he closed the window behind him. Not all the way though, MJ liked fresh air in her room, even if only through the slightest crack.

"Hey," Peter said, slipping out of his navy blue hoodie. It was one he had bought after lightly MJ pointed out his extensive hoodie collection, each a darker shade of grey than the last.

"Hm," MJ hummed, noncommittal, taking out her earphones. She eyed the bruise dusting Peter's cheek, new and not yet purple. "Somebody try to steal your eggs again?"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Oh, ha ha, because I'm a spider. I actually stopped a robbery, _Michelle,_ just so you know _._ Have you ever stopped a robbery? No. I didn't think so."

Steps careful, Peter walked around the gathering of signs. MJ budged nearer to the wall and made space for Peter to fold his legs beneath himself and sit beside her.

"Where was the robbery?" MJ asked, keeping the laugh from her voice and the smile from her face.

Peter's head dropped into his hand. " _Boa's Bed and_ _Egg-fast_ ," he mumbled, on a short sigh. Brow furrowing, he caught MJ's eye. "How'd you know? Are you also keeping tabs on me?"

The way he asked— as if every second of his life was being monitored, as if he hadn't had a moment of privacy in years, as if he was constantly watched and was tired of it— it more than made MJ flinch; it made her want to punch somebody in the face.

Shaking her head, MJ shook her phone at him. The dangling earphones clicked against each other tunelessly. "Police scanner," she said. "I figured you were the 'masked vigilante' who had shown up... Unless Daredevil's in town again."

"What? On your phone? How?" Peter reached for her phone. His eyes widened in awe and he made to grab it even as MJ kept her phone out of reach.

"Nope," MJ deadpanned, arm held high above her head. "Don't ask questions. And don't try to get my phone— My arms are longer than your whole body, so it's a given that you'll fail."

"One, I'm of an average height," Peter said. He stretched across MJ to reach the phone, now tucked behind her back. "Two, I'm Spider-Man."

"You're like two inches tall, Peter. I don't care how much fluid you can squirt, why exactly should I feel threatened?" She shoved her phone under her butt, pushed Peter away from her and regarded him with a daring stare.

Peter poked MJ in her thigh, meeting her eyes and not saying a single word, offering a challenge with just his sharp glare. "Shall we end this with a duel, m'lady," Peter said, accent exaggeratedly Elizabethan—dork that he was— and grabbed a pillow from the pile on her bed.

MJ was always ready for a fight; she had never learned how to back down from a challenge. If she listened to her mother, it was a bit of a problem.   
But the bruise under Peter's eye was begin to turn a hideous shade of purple that MJ never wanted to see against his skin again. And the last time they had had a pillow fight, she had sprained her ankle. Peter had chipped his tooth.

"I'm not ruining my signs," she said instead, dragging her eyes to look over what she had spent most of her afternoon and evening doing. "Look at them," she continued, "they look so new, so pristine."

"'Redistribute your wealth!'" Peter read, raising his voice for the exclamation, "'Anti billionaire/Anti Stark.'"

"They're for a rally some of us are holding. Tomorrow, after school, if you can make it."

"It's almost midnight," Peter pointed out. "How many more do you need to do?"

"About thirty or so." She raised her shoulders, clad in a ratty oversized sweatshirt, in a short shrug.

Pulling a Sharpie from the pile gathered by MJ's knee. "He helped me out a lot," Peter said, and MJ frowned.

Would he argue with her, tell her that it was wrong of her to protest? Would she have to send Peter away now?

"But he lied to me, too. And he forgot about me when I really needed him." Peter continued, voice soft as if the air had been pulled from his lungs. With a tug, he pulled off the Sharpie's cap. "What do you need me to write?"

"I get it if you're not sure how you feel about Stark," MJ said. She wanted to preach his sins to Peter, shout them at the top of her lungs.  
But she knew Peter, and knew that wasn't what he needed to hear. "I'd like your help, Pete, but I you're not forced to do anything."

A shake of head, soft tendrils of hair framing his face. Peter reached for the nearest blank square of cardboard.

"It's not for me," Peter said. "I mean, I believe in what you believe. I want to help. It's for me, and it's for you. It's for both of us."

"I don't know what you're saying about ninety percent of the time." MJ addressed Peter with a face pinched into a look of confused worry, of amused concern.

Peter choked out a laugh. A fine blush coloured his cheeks, MJ couldn't help but notice. "I want to be there for you, MJ. Always." He waved the Sharpie. "Anyway, I'm the amazing spider guy. I'm the best person to have in your corner."

 

**iii** **.**

"Scatter!" someone yelled. Peter couldn't tell who, not in the large crowd of people he hardly knew, not in the sudden flurry.

 

Peter dropped his sign to rest on his shoulder, the wooden post digging into his flesh. A confusion of sounds. A sudden explosion of colour, wisps of smoke— purple, orange, yellow— dancing violently in the wind. And, in the rush of it all, a hand tightened around his.

  
"What?" Peter tugged at the grip.

"C'mon!" MJ shouted to be heard over the noise. She strengthened the grip she had on him. Without a second of warning, but for the nod of her head and the wild gleam in her eye, MJ pulled Peter with her.

Footsteps pounded against pavement. Faster and faster they ran, the muscles in his legs and thighs burned.

"'Scuse me," MJ said sweetly to a elderly couple wearing matching pink skirts. Ducking her head, she lead them through the throngs of crowds, cut past person after startled person.

"Where are we going?" he called as they rounded a corner, his arm scraping against the worn brick. Sleeve of his sweatshirt catching and tearing.

He grabbed at his chest. Grateful for each breath, taken in without a hitch or a pain. Stumbling over the edge of a loose tile, he let out a loud laugh. And when the breathlessness wasn't followed by the suffocating feeling that came with running while wearing a binder, he laughed again.

Peter squeezed MJ's hand. Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she replied, "I don't know."  
Her yell carried down the alley and echoed around them.

They broke from the alley, ran across a empty side road and straight into another. Where were they heading, were they even being chased anymore? Peter didn't have an answer to either question.

Buildings rose around them. If Peter looked around he might have been able to place almost exactly which part of the city they were cutting through.   
But his eyes focused on MJ's beaten black sneakers slapping against the concrete; the end of her ripped jeans which she had cut herself—hacked at with a pair of sharp kitchen scissors she had found under her bed— so that they came to rest just above her ankles; the tattoo below her right ankle which he had never seen before and was so small it was just a moving blur. Transfixed, he couldn't look away even if he tried.

"Okay. Okay," MJ said, between large gulps of air. Skidding to a halt near the end of another alley, she forced Peter to a stop.

Their hands, clammy from the run and more unpleasant when they had first clasped together, dropped.  
Bent over, almost completely in half, MJ held onto her sides as she reclaimed every breath she had expelled.

Peter fell against the nearest wall. A dumpster on his right, a rat scuttling past, and all Peter could think of was that the ground was dry; how happy he was not to feel moisture soaking through the seat of his jeans.

"So you did know where we were going," Peter said, without any venom in the accusation. His living room window was directly above his head, the window for his bedroom not that far to its right.

Legs stretched out into the cramped space of the alley, MJ sat down next to Peter. "Not at first," she simply said.

Her cheeks were flushed, whatever of her hair that wasn't plastered to her forehead and the sides of her face stuck out in a halo of unruly curls. Peter imagined he didn't look much better. He knew that his eyes didn't shine with the same intensity.

He didn't know what time it was, how long they had been gone. Didn't care if it meant he and MJ could stay in that moment, sides pressed together, breathing slowly falling in sync.

"How long were we even running?" Peter asked, glancing at the bit of the crack of sky he could see.

"Ten minutes, maybe." MJ raised her shoulders in slow shrug, looked at the digital watch matching one Peter had kept in his room. "It felt like like thirty."

"You live like this?" He raked a hand through his hair, eyed MJ with a shake of his head. "You run this much? You do this, like, twice a week?"

MJ nodded. Quiet except for her breathing, she stared at the slice of her knee showing through the rip in her jeans. Thinking. He could tell by the tight creases at the corners of her eyes, the frown.

"Sometimes," she began, slowly, as if she was putting the words together as she said them, "you have to put yourself in uncomfortable situations if it means doing what you believe in. Nothing ever changes if you sit by and wait for it to change."

Peter nodded. MJ was the smartest person he knew. Reckless and stubborn, too, but still the most intelligent. He wanted to listen to her speak forever; he wanted to have endless conversations over endless plates of Thai food while sipping too bitter coffee and listening to the too loud eighties music they both loved.

Biting down on his tongue didn't stop the words from being spoken. They had lived in his mind and swelled to such unearthly proportions that he didn't think anything other than a miracle could have stopped them.

Aunt May always said Peter had a proclivity for doing things that ruined his own life.

"I love listening to you speak," Peter said. And once the words started they didn't stop. "You're so passionate about _everything._ Even the things you don't like, you're so passionate about not liking them. I don't know anyone else who really and truly believes in the things they say they believe in... And you do, MJ. You do. I love that."

Stone-faced beside him, MJ stared at the wall belonging to the other build. Nothing. Not even a blink.

If he could kick himself in the face, Peter would. If he could make the walls crumble and crush him, he would. If he could have the ground swallow him whole, he would let it, without a single hesitation.

_Do I apologize? Or just walk away and hope MJ forgets about this by tomorrow?_

He strengthened his jaw, looked at MJ.

Well, he continued to reason, if a situation is ruined it can't be un-ruined.

"I like you, MJ," Peter ploughed on, his voice dropped to a whisper he wasn't sure she could hear, even though they were so close. "I like you a lot. Maybe more than a lot, if that exists. I know I probably just ruined our friendship— I'm so sorry if I did, I really am, but I wanted to tell you. I've wanted to tell you for a long time."

"You dork," MJ said, bumping her leg against Peter's. "You don't need to apologize so much, least of all to me. You didn't ruin anything. Well, you kinda ruined that profession of love, but that's pretty much it."

"It wasn't—" Peter started on a protest. Cut himself off when he noticed MJ's smile, pulling chewed lips into a soft curve.

She drew her knees to her chest, turned to meet Peter's gaze. "I'm exhausted, Pete. I'm seeing double. I'm ten seconds away from dying, okay? I like you, too, I think you should know. But now I need you to take me upstairs for a glass of water and maybe a sandwich."

"And... After that? Tomorrow?"

"If we don't get arrested," MJ said with an easy shrug, "I'll take you out for lunch."

Peter stood. He held out a hand to help MJ up. "Hey," he said, tangling their fingers together once he got MJ standing, walking to the front of the apartment building, "what do think about Thai food?"   
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you want to see how I procrastinate, shoot me some asks or just hang out, you can find me on Tumblr at [aycebasketcase](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aycebasketcase)


End file.
